The Strangers Who Wander in Moonlight
by TexanRose
Summary: A tale of Han Xiao Ling, Mulan's granddaughter, and the man she is forced to marry. Very romantic and fairytale-like. If you like A Preliminary Interview (my other work) then you will like this.


**A** **story of Mulan's granddaughter. Mulan makes a minor appearance under the name of Grandmother Li. Please give it a chance. And please REVIEW! Thank you!**

**I do not own _Mulan_.**

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A long time ago in the northern part of China, where the central plains meet the icy mountains, there lived a man of enormous wealth. Though there were other estates and manors near his, none could compare with the grandness of his residence. Three courtyards were surrounded by flowers of every color imaginable and filled with ponds decorated with bridges and lily pads. Painted red pillars of cedar wood filled his halls that loomed tall and proud, as if reaching into the heavens. His library was rumored to have every book ever written including those from Goryeo and Balhae. It was said that silk covered every surface and warm rugs adorned the intricate tiles of the floor. A dozen painted pavilions dotted the landscape of the garden, gleaming like rubies amidst the emerald grass. There was a room dedicated to dressing. Another to the caring of porcelain. And a third to treasures collected from the far west and the deep south. The walls that surrounded his residence were twenty men high and thick iron gates opened and shut the estate to the world. It was said that they rarely opened to the outside and the master who resided within was rarely seen.

Of the reclusive master, he was rumored to be old and gray, exhausted by age though extremely sharp of mind. His wealth was so extreme that even the Emperor, young and inexperienced, deferred to him in certain matters. It was rumored that his grandmother was a princess from Balhae and his great-grandfather a king in Yuan. Servants claimed that he preferred the company of books to that of people, that he was a man who almost as wise as the great master Confucius. He was also a master of war in his younger days, a fighter of impeccable skill or so it was said. On his last birthday, he had claimed ninety-eight years of life. Of his heirs, it was said he had only one son who had passed on to the next world decades ago. But whether or not these things were rumors of falsehood or rumors of truth, no one was sure. Only his grand wealth was certain and the enormity of his estate. Whether he was a scholar, fighter, or politician of an age to be stooped and feeble no one except his most trusted servants and the few he allowed in his private chambers was certain of.

Although the estate was grand and private and no other hints of civilization dotted the landscape near it, there were other manors, though of smaller size, not far away. It was from these manors that the servants at the estate learned news of the capital and the nation, heard of marriages and deaths in the city of Xing Qi a day's ride away. And though the masters and mistresses of the manors were of similar but perhaps not of equal rank as the master of the estate, they too had never seen him but only heard about him. And so the reclusive master, who was in possession of extreme wealth and not a little knowledge of the world, lived in obscurity and in peace.

It was a warm spring night when a stranger clad in black entered the estate quietly under the cover of darkness. Scaling the walls and creeping through the gardens, the stranger looked at the splendor around him, and although the bottom half of his face was veiled to hide his identity, his eyes widened at the indescribable beauty of the flowers in bloom. As the stranger silently wandered the halls, gaze fixed on the grandness of the columns and brightness of the paintings, he wandered from room to room in a daze. He passed the kitchens with its sleeping servants, the laundry rooms full of drying linen, the reception room with its hundred silk pillows, and porcelain room where every exquisite type of pottery had found a home. Evading the sentry on duty, the interloper entered the treasure room and put a hand over his mouth to stifle the gasp he would have emitted. Goods of every kind filled the room both of precious and ordinary materials, with pictures and words he had never seen before. Polished mirrors decorated the walls. Pallets of fur were spread between pieces of furniture. And opening a box, the stranger found a small ring with the most brilliant black jade he had ever seen. As he left the treasure room and then scaled the walls once more to exit the estate, the stranger was unaware that he was being watched, that a man in servants' garb, though made of the finest silk, observed him in the moonlight.

A month later, the servant once more witnessed the stranger scale the walls and enter the estate, the guards oblivious to his presence. As if he remembered his way around, the stranger looked to the rooms he had not visited. He wandered to the herb room with its tangy smell, the office of the steward, shut up for the night. He visited the dressing room with its polished mirror so large a tall man could see his full length. But the stranger spent the most time in the library with its ten thousand books in languages he could not possibly read but perhaps marveling at the enormity of the wealth once more. The man in servant's garb watched quietly, curiously. But when the stranger left before dawn without stealing a single item, the man decided not to inform anyone in the estate and keep the secret of the stranger's presence to himself.

One night a month for five months the stranger visited the estate, scaling the walls and wandering from room to room, marveling at the wonders he saw stored there. But the fifth month, the last of summer before a long and hard winter visited the north, the stranger did not enter any rooms at all. Instead, the interloper sat in the grass of the garden and watched the flowers dance in the night breeze, moonlight illuminating what he could see. But after some time, the stranger out of recklessness or perhaps out of exhaustion, pulled off the cap that covered his head and the face veil that obscured his features. The motion forced a bundle of dark hair from its confinement, and it rebelliously flowed down the stranger's back while the discarded veil revealed delicate features and a mouth settled in a half-smile. It was then that the man in servant's garb realized that the stranger in black who had been entering the estate like a thief in the night, was really a woman in disguise. He watched as she laid in the grass and felt the breeze on her face, watching the flowers in full bloom. It was just before dawn that the stranger left, scaling the walls and evading the guards, binding her hair and obscuring her face before she did so.

She came for two more months, one the brightest nights of the full moon. She always scaled the walls and wandered the estate, going from room to room and evading the guards. She never again showed her face, but the man in servants' garb was always there to watch her from the shadows of corners and crannies that she didn't know existed. She always left the way she came, scaling the walls and evading the guards. But for the next four months, the harshest of the winter time, either by inability or fear of cold and snow, she did not come and sneak around in the darkness. And for some reason, the young man felt a loss by the lack of her presence.

In the first month of spring, when the snow was nearly gone and grass began to grow from the earth, the woman appeared once more, still dressed in black and still obscuring her features. She wandered in the light of the full moon, going from room to room and hall to hall, careful not to disturb anyone in her wake. And the man in servant's clothing observed her movements even as she was unaware of his.

The next month, the woman found a bucket of water in one of the garden pavilions and a note that revealed it was for the night visitor who wandered the estate. Although fearful that she had been discovered, the woman drank thankfully from the bucket, her thirst burning in her throat. But as she looked around to see who left the message, she could not see the man in servant's garb hiding in the shadows.

The next month, when she visited, the stranger found bread to go with her water, both waiting for her in the same pavilion. She ate and drank gratefully as she looked to see who had left the gift. But unable to see the young man, she brushed away her fears and apprehensions. This time before she left, she placed a single square of embroidered silk next to the nearly empty bucket to thank whoever had left her gift. When she left before dawn, scaling the walls and evading the guards, the man in servant's clothing took the piece of silk thankfully, tucking it in the sleeve of his gown where he could feel the coolness of the fabric on his skin .

For six months, the pair exchanged gifts. The stranger was given food and drink. Sometimes it was bread and water, other times tea and cakes, once fruit and wine were offered. There was always a note addressed to her, the stranger who walked in the moonlight. She offered gifts in return, squares of embroidered silk, calligraphy, a few lines of poetry, once she even left a fan of deep red. And she too left notes, these were addressed to her gracious guardian. And thus the pair communicated voicelessly, without ever meeting. But once again as the months became colder and winter visited, her visits stopped for the coldest months, resuming once the weather had become warmer and the snow disappeared from the earth. And again, while she was gone, the man in servant's clothing felt as if he had lost something precious.

He waited anxiously for her return, wondering if he should reveal his presence to her. When she did come in the first month of spring, her hair was still bound in a cap and the bottom half of her face obscured by a veil. But instead of black clothing, she wore a garment of silk and edged with imperial yellow, the color worn only by those upon whom the Emperor had bestowed enormous favor or one of their descendants. This time, instead of admiring the estate, gaping at its grand halls and indescribably beautiful gardens, she wandered as if in search of someone. She gratefully took the gift of food and drink and left a note in return. After she had safely scaled the walls, he read the note. Addressed to her gracious guardian, it asked for a meeting. He folded the note and sunk into deep thought.

The next month, she scaled the walls and crept quietly in search of someone. Again she had shed her black for a silk garment edged with imperial yellow. But this time, she wore no face veil as if to show the sincerity of her words and her request for a meeting. He followed her as she wandered. But when she accidentally entered the family quarters, about to open the personal chamber of the master, he was forced to stop her.

First, his hand grabbed her wrist as she reached for the master's door, and she looked up in surprise, gasping quietly. His face was obscured in shadows, giving him a menacing aura and he could feel her quiver. She followed him as he led her into the garden, away from the chamber, and into the safety of the familiar pavilion. In the moonlight, she could see that he was young and kind-looking, and she nodded calmly as he informed her of her error. She noted that this night the pavilion had food enough for two and silk cushions on which the visitors could rest. Shyly, quietly she began to speak to ask him about life on the estate and the family who owned it. He answered it all in kind, relaxing when the conversation began to flow easily between them. And although she did not offer her name nor ask him for his, he felt as if he had made a friend that night.

The spring and the summer months that ensued brought the estate's monthly visitor regularly, always on the brightest night of the full moon. She no longer wandered from room to room or courtyard to courtyard. Instead, she sat and talked with the young man in the pavilion. In these months, there was always food for two and silk cushions to sit on. The pair became friends and confidants although she did not share the intimate details of her own life nor him of his. They discussed poetry and literature, current events and politics, and even techniques of warfare. And although she did not voluntary talk about who she was or where she was from, the young man noted that she poured tea in the manner of the imperial court, delicately and precisely. She continued to wear clothes edged in imperial yellow. And once she came to visit with her hair unbound, a small pin of precious quality keeping it from falling in her face. And she admitted that she had begun to visit the estate out of curiosity about its grandness and reclusive master, she continued to visit not because she marveled at its wonders but because she had come to enjoy her time with him. And even though he was a servant, albeit a high-ranking one from his clothing, she could not help but feel warmth and companionship whenever she was with him.

From her manners, her garb, her speech, and even the way she scaled the walls of the estate, the young man knew exactly who the stranger was. But he was touched when in the last month of autumn, before her visits would stop with winter's coming, she offered her name-Han Xiao Ling. And as oppressive winter settled in the north, a part of him wondered if he would ever see her again. And he marveled that his heart was heavy with sadness at the thought of never seeing her face again.

In the spring, the stranger did not return to the estate. Instead, she was busy preparing for the betrothal her family had arranged. Like the young man suspected and she confirmed with her name, Han Xiao Ling was a daughter of the Li manor, a home a few hours' ride from the estate. Her parents had died from illness when she was a child, and she, although a distant relative to the Emperor through her late father, his cousin, she was raised by her mother's mother. In their home, she was given enormous freedoms she would never be allowed in the imperial court. She was given a man's education as well as a woman's and was taught archery, swordsmanship, and horsemanship as well as embroidery, calligraphy, and the tea ceremony. Though her grandfather had died of the same illness that took her parents, she was raised with stories about his life from her grandmother who shared the adventures they had together.

When an offer of marriage arose from a nearby manor, Grandmother Li, aware that she would not be able to care for her grandchild much longer, decided that such an offer should be accepted lest the Emperor, Xiao Ling's relative, decide to arrange the marriage himself. Such a marriage, while not what she wished for her granddaughter, Grandmother Li knew would allow her to stay in the north that she loved rather than be confined in the capital city. Xiao Ling accepted her grandmother's wishes upon the condition that she would meet her groom before the wedding.

From an upper window, Xiao Ling watched as her groom's procession entered the gates. Though his face was obscured by a wide hat, she could tell that he was young, and by his manners, that he treated his servants well. She watched from a corner as he greeted her grandmother with reverence, the older woman dressed fully in imperial yellow. But as the man bowed to Grandmother Li and exchanged formal greetings, she recognized him as the one with whom she had spoken in the moonlight, the servant who had watched her from afar. It was then she realized that her groom had not come to speak with her but had sent his servant in his stead. But a second thought followed the first closely, and that was that she was to married into the house of Jiang to a relative of the master of the grand estate.

Hidden safely in her corner, anger flashed in her features. For the first time, she felt as she was an object for barter, an item bought and sold to the highest bidder. But the fury in her eyes subsided as she realized that to marry in the house of Jiang was to see her young servant friend on a regular basis. And though their relationship would not be that of equals, like it was in the nights in the garden, she would be able to rest her gaze upon him in the sunlight without fear of retribution.

That day she met none of the entourage, but locked herself secluded in her rooms until Grandmother Li entered and gathered the bewildered and anxious her girl in her arms. There, in her embrace, Xiao Ling cried as she tried to puzzle out her own feelings about the marriage. And Grandmother Li stroked her granddaughter's hair and wept silent tears along with her for earlier that day, the servant who had come in place of his master had produced a scroll with the Emperor's seal. It was a decree that Han Xiao Ling, his relative and a daughter of the house of Li would marry Jiang Zhao Zhen. There was no power on earth that could reverse his orders.

So Grandmother Li shed tears with her granddaughter, the girl she had raised as her own. Xiao Ling was the light of her life, a bright spirit in a world of sadness. She was so like her grandmother, a wanderer who explored the northern mountains, a rider who loved the wind her face as she rode furiously across the plains, a swordsman who was better than most men, an adventurer who snuck out in the middle of the night. She was all these things and wore the guise of a proper lady who could sew and serve tea and weave at her loom. But Grandmother Li, who had faced an army of ten thousand Huns and won, could not save her from her fate even though she offered to.

When Xiao Ling heard her grandmother's plan to fake death and send her away in the guise of a boy, the offer was tempting. The adventurer in her that could not be confined, the wanderer who crept under the stars wanted to run far away. But as she stole one look at her grandmother's despondent expression, she knew she could not say good-bye to the woman she loved for forever. And selfishly, she also thought of the young servant man she had befriended. She found herself also unwilling to say good-bye to him. So she assured her grandmother that the match and the marriage would be accepted of her own free will. What the Emperor had decreed would come to pass. With the marriage, she would be able to stay in the north that she loved so much instead of wandering rootlessly from place to place. With the marriage, she would bring honor to her family. And Grandmother Li kissed her forehead in comfort when she saw what sacrifice her granddaughter was making.

The gifts began to arrive three months before the wedding. During this time, Xiao Ling stayed within the confines of the Li manor, not once venturing to the grand estate in the moonlight. She accepted the gifts gratefully, her esteem for her future husband rising because they were thoughtful gifts, gifts given with the recipient in mind. Bolts of silk were accompanied by exquisite swords, delicate fans were given with books of poetry, there were gifts of gold and of jewels, there were silk cushions and rare teas, but Xiao Ling was touched most of all by a gift of a white mare named Yue Guang who was beautiful and a joy to ride. Xiao Ling found herself riding her new friend across the plains, and on the day before the wedding ceremony, she found herself looking at the grand estate in the distance wondering what her life would be like there or if her new husband would take her far away. Sighing heavily, she made her way home, an hour's ride away, unaware that a figure watched her from the walls of the estate.

The day of her wedding ceremony dawned brightly and early, and the garden was full of the summer scents of flowers. The birds sang outside her window and even the servants were excited, chatting about how lucky their young mistress was. She was bathed in water filled with rose petals, was dried with towels of the softest wool. Her hair was brushed with precious oils and lotions of the rarest fragrances were rubbed into her skin. She was dressed in a gown of exquisite red and gold silk made from one of the bolts her future husband had provided. The daintiest slippers were placed on her feet. Her long hair was artfully arranged at the top of her head and decorated with golden ornaments. And before they placed the bridal veil on top of her head, a solid piece of red cloth that would obscure her view of the world, her grandmother kissed her forehead and embraced her granddaughter and said good-bye.

The ceremony itself was short although grand and held at the Li manor. But even as she made the customary bows and went through the necessary motions, all Xiao Ling could see was her husband's feet, her bridal veil obscuring her view of the world. After the ceremony, she was escorted to a carriage with covered windows and left the only home she had ever known, part of an entourage led by her husband that would take her to her new home. Xiao Ling shed the veil for the ride, familiar with the journey's length. But the only view that greeted her was that of the painted wooden plants and solid wood curtains that made up the inside of the carriage. When they arrived at the estate, it was nearly dusk, and Xiao Ling had replaced her bridal veil, her view of the world nothing more that the red silk an inch in front of her eyes. She felt herself led to a chamber where a woman's hand removed the veil.

It was a beautiful chamber, brightly painted and filled with every comfort imaginable. A table filled with food awaited her, and Xiao Ling looked at it ravenously struggling to remember the last time she had eaten. She turned to the woman who had unveiled her, a servant old enough to be her mother who smiled warmly and gestured to the room. This would be her own personal chamber, and not even her husband would be allowed to enter if she bid him not to. Xiao Ling nodded her head in understanding when the servant woman explained that her husband was feasting with the men of the household, but since there were no ladies of the household, she would have to dine alone. Sitting down at the table, she began to eat until she had sated her hunger. Then she looked at the room she would call hers, a chamber she had never stepped foot in despite her wanderings. Then she wondered when she would see the young servant man who suddenly become her only friend in the place. Then she waited. And waited. And waited for the husband she knew would not be long in coming.

She waited in vain. The servant woman again appeared, a woman whose name was Yu Xi, and told her that her husband would like to meet her in the garden. Donning her bridal veil once more, Xiao Ling was guided to a pavilion in the garden on which she had wandered so many nights. Like those nights, she wondered if the stars shined and the moon gleamed, beams of light and air dancing among the flowers. For a moment, she mourned that on this night she could not see such things. She waited on a cushion in the pavilion, her view still obscured by her bridal veil, to be taken off by her husband on their wedding night. She sighed in contentment as she felt the breeze kiss her exposed skin, cooling her in the warm night.

When she heard a voice, she straightened, sure that her husband had come to visit. But after a few moments, she recognized it as that of her friend. She smiled underneath the veil for the first time that day as he spoke wishing her congratulations and blessings upon her marriage. She asked him how his day had been and where her husband was. Haltingly, he told her that her husband was near. She asked him if they would be able to see each other often. He sighed and nodded although she could not see the gesture or the square of embroidered silk that he held between his fingers. She said that despite her rank, she hoped that they could remain friends. He shuffled his feet before replying her husband was near.

In the next minute, Xiao Ling saw brightness as her veil was removed, allowing her access to the outside world. She blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to the brightness of the lanterns that decorated the pavilion. She saw before her food and drink. And then she looked up and she saw him. It was her servant-friend in the garb of a groom. And then she saw that they were in the same pavilion she had come to think of as theirs. For a moment she stuttered as she tried to understand what had happened.

But he took her hand in his and apologized before he began to explain. He was Jiang Zhao Zhen and the master of the grand estate. He had been watching her from the first night that she had scaled the walls and evaded the guards. His grandfather had died four years past, and his father, fourteen years before that. He was a childhood companion of the Emperor. He had gone to war in his younger days. He had been educated by the best of tutors. He wore servant's garb so he could walk around freely and make friends with those who also earned their living from the estate. And he begged forgiveness for lying to her, claiming that he could not bear to lose her for he had come to love her dearly. He had even asked the Emperor to bless the marriage. And he promised her that he would not clip her wings or cage her. Where he went, she could follow, and she could do whatever made her happy even if meant dressing like a boy and wandering the plains and mountains. He swore he would never take a second wife or concubine if she stayed by his side. But he left the choice up to her, and if this marriage was still unwanted, he would petition the Emperor for divorce and she could live her life peacefully away from him.

Her eyes wide in awe, Xiao Ling could hardly believe that her servant friend had been the master in disguise. She studied his features in the lamplight, aware that for the first time, she was seeing him clearly. She saw a kind face and a warm heart, a body bent in supplication, hands that had known hard work instead of idleness. She saw a brow wrinkled in worry and eyes full of love and fear, as if he knew he might lose her. And she understood that he was offering a marriage like that of Grandmother and Grandfather Li. Lifting a hand, she touched his forehead as if to ease the wrinkles there. And then, wordlessly, she put a hand to his heart and his hand to hers. And she smiled warmly and called him friend and husband. And in her smile was her answer.

That night, Xiao Ling slept in the room of the master of the estate, the one her friend had once prevented her from opening. And she spent every night there. And the pair grew old together and spent their lives together. They had children together and saw their grandchildren grow. They shared adventures together and wandered China together. They went to war together and enjoyed peace together. They lived together and then they died together, their souls traveling to heaven together. And once a month, on the brightest night of the full moon, without the aid of any lamps, they sat on silk cushions in the pavilion they called their own and partook of food and drink and spoke of literature and love and war and life.

Generations later, a group of children wearing garments edged in imperial yellow, an honor worn by those upon whom the Emperor had bestowed enormous favor or one of their descendants, sat in a pavilion near a tree of cherry blossoms in an estate so grand none compare and belonging to a House that was rumored was wealthier than the Emperor. Of the master, some claimed that his mother was a princess in Balhae and his great-grandfather had been king in Yuan. He was a scholar nearly as wise as the Master Confucius, a soldier of unspeakable valor, and a statesman to whom even the Emperor, young and inexperienced, deferred to in certain instances. There in the pavilion in a garden with a flower of every color imaginable, the children begged their mother for a story. And so she began, "A long time ago in the northern part of China, where the central plains meet the icy mountains, there lived a man of enormous wealth."

But the children, who had heard this story countless times before groaned and their mother stopped its telling. "What would you like to hear?" she asked, looking down at the little ones.

"A story of war," said then ten-year-old Zhan Cheng, her oldest son.

"A story of love," answered six-year-old Mei Ling, her prettiest daughter.

"Something exciting," demanded seven-year-old Wei Lian, her most rambunctious son.

"A tale of the ancestors," claimed twelve-year-old Xia Lei, her most proper daughter.

"Mulan," shouted four-year-old Luo Han, her youngest child.

"Yes," agreed the children at once, making their mother smile.

And so she began again.

"A long time ago in the southern part of China not far from the capital there lived a family that was neither rich nor poor, but happy. The only child of the house, a daughter, brought joy to her family until the day she went off to war disguised as a man…"

And so the children were told the story of Fa Mulan, the grandmother of Han Xiao Ling, the stranger who wandered the estate and fell in love with its master. It was Fa Mulan who had won such enormous favor that all of her descendants wore robes of silk edged in imperial yellow. And the children sat entranced at their mother's tale full of war and love and excitement and their ancestors.


End file.
